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2007-02-18 - 11:52 p.m.

Part Deux: The Sky Is Falling

In case you missed it here's Part One.

Alright, back to the serious shit. This morning, I woke up around 8, and mom and I waited around for Art to call. We didn't want to be too hasty and start bugging him (surely, if he knew something, he'd call us), or start calling the hospital just yet.

By 9:30, brother and sis-in-law (for brevity's sake, I'll refer to them as B and SIL) decided to call the hospital and find out his room number and see if they could reach Dad. They got the number, but there was no answer. At least we knew he had a room and hadn't been discharged.

By 10:30, mom and I were getting pretty annoyed that Art hadn't called in to tell us something (even if it was "I don't know anything yet"). B and SIL were getting fed up and decided to call the nurse's station to see if they could get any information. They discovered that Dad was disoriented, confused, "very ill," and may have suffered seizures when he fell. To top it all off, he was being extremely belligerent with the nurses. He was desperate to get back to work. They planned to move him to a room closer to the nurse's station to keep a better eye on him. His sodium level was dangerously low (too much liquid intake - a chronic "psychogenic" issue because he constantly feels thirsty), his legs were swollen, his x-ray results were not in yet...and he was restrained. And this may sound awful, but that was a relief to hear. Because my Dad will go against every advice in the book to do things HIS WAY, even if that results in him falling down and cracking his head open the minute he steps out of bed.

He's the kind of guy who pulls out IVs and catheters in an attempt to break free. He did it the last time he was in the hospital, 2 years ago this month.

So if Dad won't listen to reason, physical restraints = GOOD.

We KNOW this drives him crazy, but he is literally a danger to himself. He fought so hard these last 2 years to keep his independence after his ICU discharge (ignoring doctor ordered short-term/respite care, taking OTC meds that might throw his prescriptions out of whack, coming in early and working weekends to "get caught up" at work, pushing himself past exhaustion, drinking gallons of diet cola and water daily, eating wrong, you name it). He's tired all the time. His breathing is bad. His heart is failing. His memory is shot. But he refuses to stop. He will NOT retire. He will NOT slow down. He will NOT compromise.

Here's the crux: If he keeps going this way, he will die because his body cannot handle it....But if he doesn't keep going, he will die because his mind cannot handle it.

To make matters worse, my Dad still thinks he will live forever. And sometimes, he's so convincing, I think so too.

Unfortunately, the heaviness of reality sets in, and you realize the big engine that could, can't.

Art finally called around 2:30, in a "heeeey, how's it going?" way. He already been to the hospital and back. Told us what we'd already found out from the nurses HOURS before, that Dad was sedated when he was there, but mentioned that the x-rays showed no broken bones. Oddly, he said something about having known that last night, which 1) doesn't jive with what he told us on the phone (he was supposedly gone before x-rays were taken), and 2) doesn't jive with what the nurse said about the results not being in yet. Mom was perplexed, but we can only chalk it up to her misunderstanding what he said, or him being mixed up...or that, perhaps Art is trying to extract himself from the "middle man" position or that Dad told him to keep his mouth shut. We're not even sure Dad realizes that we know he's in the hospital yet.

On the other hand, a report of no broken bones is GOOD news, right? And why the fuck did Art wait till 2:30 to call us? I mean, we're thankful for him and his wife helping Dad out (although a bit embarrassed he called a co-worker instead of an ambulance), but that's a bit strange that he just left us hanging, don't you agree?

In the meantime, after a flurry of additional phone calls with B and SIL, we all agreed it was best for my brother to get some sleep, leave around 1 am, and get into Baton Rouge early Monday morning, instead of him leaving this afternoon and showing up in at midnight or beyond.

And then, around 4:30, mom received a call from a nurse.

In the I.C.U.

O.H.S.H.I.T.

They had grown more concerned about his condition (his sodium level is still well below normal, although they're trying to bring it back up) and they're afraid he may have (more?) seizures. He needs, well, intensive care. He finally stopped fighting the nurses, because he's so sick and out of it.

It's like 2 years ago, all over again. IN VIVID LIVING COLOR.

He's in the same hospital, in the same ICU ward. And we'll be planting our butts in the same ICU waiting room where we spent countless hours between visits. There are only 4 visitations a day: 9 am, 1 pm, 5 pm and 9 pm. Although, I believe they'll let us in when we arrive, no matter what the hour, for the initial visit.

All we know right now is that they plan on keeping him at least a few days. His "regular" ICU doctors will be making rounds in the morning. His physicians for his ongoing conditions (related to his past ICU stay) have been notified and will be kept informed.

The ICU nurse that called mom is named Bambi ("just like the deer"). Yikes. She knows to notify us if anything changes with his condition tonight.

So the plan now is for my brother to arrive in the morning. He's going to stay till Tuesday (longer if needed), but he really needs to get back to work Wednesday morning, if possible. Once we get the word from our advance scout, I'll make boarding arrangements for the dogs. We're planning to hit the road Tuesday.

Which happens to be Fat Tuesday in Louisiana, otherwise known as....MARDI GRAS.

Baton Rouge is one hour shy of New Orleans off I-10 East. Fat Tuesday is a state holiday. This oughta be a fun trek. Especially if I were 21, drunk, topless and not going to visit my Dad in the FUCKING HOSPITAL.

I'm freaked out, but trying not to worry (yay Paxil!) It's going to be what it's going to be. The one "positive" thing is that we've been through this ICU drill before. We know the hospital, the setup, and that we have to stake out our territory in the waiting room and get a locker cabinet. We know to pack our own blankets and pillows instead of hoping there will be extra hospital ones on hand. We will bring a backpack instead our our purses. We'll have gum and throat drops and change for the vending machines if we happen to run out of snacks and beverages (that we'll know to bring). We know where to park, where to smoke, and where to tell the furniture Nazis where to shove it when they tell us we can't push two couches together to make footrests while we nap. Mom and I both have cell phones now. She'll need to bring her cross-stitch and I'll crave headphones and music (Goddammit, why didn't I buy an iPod sooner?)

But you know, the problem with being too prepared is that most times, you won't need those things.

The minute you "know" is the exact time you don't know.

Hope for the best, but expect the worst.

Oh, and did I mention that I haven't spoken directly to my brother since Dad's last ICU visit two years ago?

(Huge fight. Long story.)

WHEEEEEEEEEEE!

Recommended tunes:

1) "That's Life" and "My Way" by Frank Sinatra in honor of my Dad.

2) "Not Ready to Make Nice" by the Dixie Chicks in honor of my brother's state of mind to this day, and the state of mind I SHOULD be in.

3) "Hurt" by Christina Aguilera to my brother for words I can't take back. To my father for the blame I laid at his feet.

4) "Mama" by The Spice Girls to my mom, because she has become the friend I never had.

5) "Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word" by Elton John for ME, from my brother (a daydream).

6) If 5 fails to come through on some level, then replay Dick in a Box over and over. That song can have many meanings, you know.